


All Hail King Papyrus

by kmarzski



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Basically Parks and Rec, Gen, Post-Undertale Neutral Route - King Papyrus Ending, With Monsters, also angst, they try so hard, those poor skeletons brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8195221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmarzski/pseuds/kmarzski
Summary: You know that one Neutral Ending where  most  monsters died and Papyrus became the unwilling king of the Underground? 
Yeah.
How messed up is that?





	1. Chapter 1

“Alright, everyone! Please settle down. I would like to officially call this meeting to order!” 

The assembled monsters, who had previously been milling around the room and chatting amongst themselves, quieted and began to find their seats, their footsteps echoing through the throne room. Artificial light – an imitation of true sunlight – streamed through the stained glass windows, casting the image of the angel over monsters as they shuffled into position. Papyrus looked over his subjects with pride.

“Wowie! So many monsters came to the meeting today. They must be here to offer their thanks for all the problems we’ve solved since last time!” Sans stopped writing long enough to look up and smile approvingly at his brother before pen found paper again.

“Must be, bro. Gotta admit, though, I’m real tired. Hope the people don’t **subject** us to their praise for too long.” Papyrus’ eye sockets narrowed suspiciously.

“Sans…”

“I mean they have to **liege** us some time for ourselves –”

“There it is! We talked about this, brother. No more king puns.”

“C’mon, bro, don’t you think my jokes are **humerous**?”

“No skeleton puns either! As the new king, I need to be a skeleton monsters can respect and look up to, and I can’t do that with you punning around all day.”

“*ahem*” called a voice from the crowd. The brothers stopped their little spat and turned towards the (mostly) patient monsters.

“Ah…yes,” said Papyrus. “Jerry. Please excuse my brother’s horrible sense of humor and continue.”

“So, do you guys have Wi-Fi here or…?”

“I have a serious matter to present before the king,” interrupted a snippy Fishwoman. 

“What’s being done about that hideous pile of snow loitering by the riverside?”

Sans tapped a pencil idly on his clipboard. “You mean…the Snowman?”

“Snowman, Snowwoman, I don’t care! It’s an eyesore and has no place lurking in Snowdin Forest. You know, it even has the nerve to ask people to…take pieces of itself? And just carry them around! We have children who play in that forest!”

“Hmm…this does sound like a dangerous issue," mused the king. "Does the Snowman have anything to say in his defense?”

A pregnant silence filled the empty spaces of the room.

“The Snowman couldn’t come, your Majesty,” someone finally called. “He doesn’t have legs.”

“No legs? This is indeed a tragedy. How will the poor snowman attend one of my famed spaghetti luncheons if he can’t even walk?

“But, Your Majesty, that’s not –”

“Sans! Make a note on the royal clipboard. When Dr. Alphys gets back from vacation, she should put leg technology for snow-based monsters at the top of her to-do list. Or at the very least close to the top!”

The crowd applauded happily for their king’s latest missive. However, there were a few among them who whispered quietly amongst themselves, faces contorted in confusion or anger.

“Moving on! Someone said they wanted to talk. About TV, I think?”

A monster with white fur and stunning red boots – Cheryl, Papyrus recalled – stood. 

“Your Majesty,” she began demurely, “From what we’ve been able to glean from the MTT network, it hasn’t run out of new material – actually, it just finished season 4 of the Underground’s Next Top Model. Mettaton won again, fourth season running.”

“Spoilers, Cheryl!”

“Oh! Sorry… um, Mettaton was well-prepared for this…blip in the schedule. We believe there’s enough material to sustain TV watchers for another month or so.”

“Excellent! This is indeed great news! With more Mettaton to watch, maybe monsters will find their cheer again.”

“Yes, your majesty,” replied Cheryl. “Moreover, I have talked with the Royal Brotherly Advisor about increasing the amount of reruns and perhaps introducing some new material from other artists. To eke out the remaining Mettaton shows we have for as long as possible.”

“Sans?” The other skeleton slouched across his chair, the royal clipboard on one knee. He started slightly as his name was called and squinted at his royal brother. “Sup, bro?”

“*sigh* Never mind. That sounds like a great idea, Cheryl. You have the Crown’s official support! But… we should probably find a more long-term solution for this. Start an Underground-wide search for our next TV superstar. They’re out there somewhere, just basking in their own talent, waiting to be found!” Cheryl inclined her head deferentially and took her seat, while Sans scrawled something on his clipboard. “Anyone else?”

A hand raised toward the back of the room.

“Yes, I have something.” The hand then rose, revealing none other than the manager of the MTT resort, fingernails freshly coated in black polish. Perhaps she had misplaced a family member during the disappearances, mused Papyrus. So many people on vacation or otherwise…it was really hurting the Underground’s morale.

“Yes, your Majesty. I’d like to inquire about the Crown’s response to that abhorrent little shop next to the MTT Resort? I personally have lodged several complaints against them, seemingly to no avail.”

“My apologies, Ms. Manager. The Royal Appeals system has been…backed up lately. What’s wrong with the little shop?” The manger’s fingers (face?) twitched slightly in annoyance.

“They’ve taken up residence in the alleyway adjacent to the resort, which wouldn’t normally be a problem worth bothering the king. Well, a king. However, not only have they begun selling illicit wares a mere stone’s throw away from our front door, they have also been caught rummaging through our garbage, both in and out of the hotel. They proceed to sell this…trash to unsuspecting monsters. Frankly it’s disgusting and has no place outside of an MTT establishment.”

“Hey, Bratty! That lady is talking down on our business.”

“Hey, lay off, lady. Our shop is awesome.” Two girls – who had previously been talking and giggling with each other in not-so-hushed tones – stood up and began searching for their detractor, eventually honing in on the woman who spoke in hands. The Manager’s hand clenched slightly, but she did not address the two supposed delinquents.

“You two own the shop?” asked Sans. “The one that, uh… apparently sells garbage?”

“That’s us!”

“No way! Our stuff isn’t garbage. It’s 100% cool kid trash, ya nerds.”

“Catty, shut uuuuuuup.”

“Augh! Sorry!”

“Those would be the two, your Majesty,” commented the Manager, coolly. “As you can see, they are wholly unapologetic in their impropriety.”

“I see,” said Papyrus, stroking his chin in what he considered a regal gesture. “Catty and Bratty –”

“Uuuuh, that’s Bratty and Catty, King Papyrus.”

“Good one, Catty.”

“Right, of course. Bratty and Catty. What have you to say in your defense?”

“That monster has had it out for us from day one! She’s just mad because we get more business than that lame nobody Burger Pants.”

“Yeah. I think she’s just jealous because people like us way more than they like her.”

“This is irrespective of our relative popularity,” stated the Manager in steely tones, “And has everything to do with your effect on our business. We cannot be a reputable resort with miscreants like you two lurking around and harassing guests.”

“Alright, alright. Settle down, leal subjects,” interrupted Papyrus. “Let there be no petty fighting in the royal courtroom.”

“But, uh, weren’t you just arguing…”

“With your bro…”

“Like not even two seconds ago.”

“You’re so right, Bratty.” Papyrus would’ve chewed cheek in consternation, if he had one. Instead, he flourished his king cape grandly and proclaimed,

“That is an entirely different matter!” His brother rolled his eyes and sat up in the royal advisor’s fold-up chair.

“So, uh… does MTT brand have rights to the public alleys adjacent to its establishments?” The manager’s hand fluttered anxiously.

“Not in as many words, no.”

“And does the Bratty and Catty Trash Emporium have all the Hotland Health Certificates required for small businesses? Or even a permit for doing business to begin with?”

“Um… what’s a certificate?”

“Heh. Thought so. So it sounds like neither of you has a good claim against the other. I would recommend my regal brother to sanction a period of, say a two months. To let both sides gather up all the evidence and regulations they need to defend their cases. Then let King Papyrus give the final verdict.” He turned towards the king. “Sound good, bro?”

“Yes, a most excellent idea! The matter is thusly adjourned. Until two months’ time.” The Manager inclined her fingers respectfully, though the little twitch to the third finger betrayed her disappointment, while Bratty and Catty discussed amongst themselves just what a certificate was and whether or not the best friend agreement scrawled on the back of a Nice Cream wrapper counted.

“I think that’s it for Court with King Papyrus,” drawled Sans. “Unless anyone has something else to say…?”

“Yes, what other problems can the Great Papyrus solve for his subjects?”

“Me! Oh, pick me, King Papyrus!”

“The Armless Sweater Child has the floor.”

The Monster Kid climbed shakily onto his chair, nearly tripping and falling on his fellow citizens, but managing it all the same.

“King Papyrus, your Majesty, Sir. What happened to Undyne? She was going to go fight the human kid, and then…well, Sir, she never came back. And a lot of the Royal Guard at home are missing, too. Is it…is it true? Did the human really…?” MK tapered off, coughing to dislodge the emotion threatening to make him cry in front of the whole assembly. Papyrus stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, before glancing to Sans for help. Sans’ smile was turning into a fixed grimace. 

When no royal reply came, the old turtle sitting nearby helped the boy off his chair and whispered something in his ear. Monster Kid nodded in assent, and the two left the room as a new wave of angry whispers erupted from the crowd.

Sans' eyes flickered in his skull. “I think that’s all the time we have for today. Make sure to grab your spaghetti goodie bag on the way out.”

* * * 

Papyrus walked out of the throne room slowly, his hands worrying at the crown between them. Not the crown Asgore had worn. No, that had probably disappeared with him. This was just a spare crown found in a drawer in the king’s quarters. Looked more like a woman’s crown, truthfully, but Papyrus didn’t mind. Flecks of gold fluttered from its brim as he toyed with it: a testament to its long years of service. It had been a long, long time since the Underground had had another king…

After a few corridors of solitude and contemplation, his brother caught up to him, though Papyrus didn’t remember hearing approaching footsteps. Sans had a talent for that, Papyrus thought. Turning up when you least expected him.

“Hey, Papyrus. Everyone’s filed out. Your goodie bags were a big hit, as always.” His eyes flicked towards the crown in his hands. “Uh… is the crown too heavy for your spine? We could have it resized or – ”

“Sans?” interrupted Papyrus.

“...yeah?” The king didn’t respond immediately. The corridor echoed with the sound of their footsteps and the muted grating of bone against bone.

“When are Undyne and the others coming back?” Sans fought to keep his expression neutral, the familiar feeling of blue magic welling up behind his left eye.

“It’s been so long since the human left,” Papyrus continued. “I thought… maybe everyone had gotten to the surface, somehow. That the human had helped them get there, and they were all having fun above ground. That they’d come back… But it’s been so long, and no one else seems to think they’ll return…”

“Don’t lose hope, bro. I’m sure that wherever they are they’re having a great time, counting the days ‘til they come back home.” The words felt like sandpaper in his mouth. “Just think how proud Undyne will be when she sees you running the whole Underground. I bet you’ll be in the Royal Guard in no time.” Papyrus brightened slightly, before his expression turned again.

“Yes… there are a lot of openings in the Royal Guard now.” 

Then, suddenly, he beamed back at Sans. “Come, brother! We have work to do. Can’t have friends and humans returning to the Underground without everything in tip-top condition! Not while Papyrus is king. Nyeh heh heh!!” Sans smiled back bleakly and followed King Papyrus into the courtyard of Asgore’s quarters. Wasn’t his brother the coolest?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People seemed to like my take on the King Papyrus neutral ending, so here's another chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> Truth be told, I hadn't planned on serializing this story...I can't promise anything in regards to length or semblance of a plot, but let me know in the comments below if you'd like to see more of King Papyrus.

The automatic lights flickered on, filling the room with harsh light, significantly worsened by the fact that nearly everything in the laboratory was a jarring shade of white. Sans lifted his head lazily as the change in atmosphere roused him from his light slumber. Why was he…oh. Right.

Swatting at the paper that had attached to his skull from prolonged contact, Sans sat back in his chair, eyes fixing on the oversized monitor and its many sublets. No changes presented themselves; the Underground was just beginning to wake up, or get to bed, depending on whether or not a monster identified as nocturnal. It all seemed a bit arbitrary when time was based off of a rough estimate of the sun's position as seen from Old Home, but Sans wasn’t about to waste precious energy arguing for the side of logic. His bread and butter was comedy of the illogical after all.

Sighing slightly, he rolled back in his swivel chair and aimed roughly to where the coffee machine rested on the adjacent table. Great mounds of paperwork proved a cunning foe as he swerved toward that blessed morning elixir, but someone Sans managed to make it without too much incident. Alphys’ brightly-colored anime figures stared at him mournfully, their over-sized eyes brimming with teen angst, as he fiddled with the machine, eventually persuading it to give up the goods. As the rich smell of ground coffee filled the room, Sans heaved himself to his feet, stretching slightly for effect. Skeleton monsters didn’t have muscles to stretch, per say, but the motion was still somewhat soothing. Grabbing his mug, he wandered back towards the monitors, slippers crunching softly on the bed of papers, and looked back at the monitors, the sharp edge of caffeine giving him greater perception than before. In Hotland, some of the early-rising youngsters were traipsing the metal walkways in small groups; businessmen took shortcuts through local puzzles, sometimes singeing their briefcases on the lasers or losing them altogether in the lava below. Same old, same old. Out in Waterfall, the nightly rains had just started to diminish, allowing the flood water to lower enough to allow residents to actually leave their homes; Sans noted that Undyne’s “rock puzzle” on the A2 waterfall had finally run out of steam. Maybe the contractors would finally be able to set up a proper trap now that the danger of impending death-by-bludgeoning was significantly lessened. As for Snowdin…well, not much was happening in Snowdin these days. 

From somewhere on the desk, a phone buzzed impatiently. Sans stared at its general area blankly for a few moments before bringing himself to free it from its paper prison. A few minutes and couple unanswered phone calls later, Sans managed to get his hands on it and accepted the call.

“You’ve reached the number of Sans the Skeleton. For advice from the Royal Brotherly Advisor, press one. For your all-expenses-paid trip to comedy central, press two.”

“Sans, where are you? Did you fall asleep at your station again?” came the King’s chipper, if somewhat irritated, voice. “Oh, nevermind. Just get back to New Home quickly. Post haste, even! We have a big day ahead of us.”

Sans made a rude sound into the receiver.

“What was that?!?!”

“Oh, sorry, bro. I thought you pressed two.” Sans took a loud slurp from his coffee, prompting Papyrus’ irritation to become nearly tangible, even over the phone line. “I’ll be there on the next ferry. Don’t sweat it.”

“I don’t plan to. A skeleton with sweat glands? That’s just weird.” And with that, the line went dead, leaving Sans to his own devices. There was a time when Papyrus wouldn’t’ve trusted his brother to come to work on time, or even in the few hours after “on time” had passed, micromanager that he was. Either Papyrus was becoming less overbearing or Sans was becoming more reliable. He wasn’t sure which one was more troubling. 

Taking another sip of coffee, Sans’ eyes found the screens one last time – just to be sure – before he sidled towards the exit door. The heat greeted him with all the indelicacy of an American football player giving a hug, immediately soaking into his light clothes and brushing against his bones. The lava gurgled merrily beneath him over the hiss of distant steam vents as he walked the busy little path down to riverside. Monsters came from every direction; some were in the process of exiting the ferry and paying their toll (one particularly gooey monster had somehow glue himself into the ticket lane and was in the process of being extricated by impatient ferry-goers); others were piling in, on their way to jobs in the larger New Home. Every once in a while, lava from the nearby Smelt River would thicken and distort until a fire monster popped out of the molten rock, ready to start the day anew. These members of society were easy to see as their appearance was by no means subtle and as their tendency to set unwary individuals on fire through proximity caused the crowds to give them a wide berth. Sans, himself, had a nice little pocket of elbow-room on the crowded dock: a testament to his new position. Monsters looked at him differently nowadays. He wasn’t just some part-time sentry, part-time comedian, part-time hot dog salesman. He had _responsibilities_ or something.

After a suitably comedic amount of time, the staff managed to un-stick the monster from the ticket line, allowing Sans and his fellow monsters to board the ferry. The River Person watched the scene unfold beneath their shadowed hood in silence, but Sans couldn’t help but feel the perk of their robe meant they were in a good mood today. His confidence was rewarded when the ferry grew legs a few feet away from the bank and began bounding across the water at break-neck speed. Most monsters were ready for this flagrant exhibition of dog magic, bracing themselves for impact against the ferry railing long beforehand, but some unobservant monsters were not so lucky and stumbled and/or rolled around the deck floor as the Ferry broke through the sound barrier, quickly approaching the yet-unexplored Dog barrier. By the time the boat reached New Home’s wide dock, these monsters were in a most pitiable state indeed, but complimentary Monster Candy courtesy of the River Person soon assuaged all ills.

The trek from New Home’s docks to the Palace was an arduous journey at this time of day, clogged by monsters of all shapes and sizes, but thankfully Sans was in-tune with the King’s schedule enough not to make a pointless trip. A quick trip “off-screen” and Sans found himself walking down a long corridor toward the babble of voices. New Home City Hall had rarely seen this level of activity under Asgore’s rule, but under King Papyrus the place was regularly filled for His Majesty’s Spaghetti Brunch. It was his brother’s pride and joy to spread so much conciliatory pasta to his subjects, and there were many sleepless nights spent in the kitchen in preparation. Thankfully, Papryrus had his own little staff of cooking minions to assist him, each less skilled in the preparation of pasta than the last. But despite the large quantities of *cough* _food_ lovingly given to them, Sans hadn’t heard a single complaint. Perhaps monsters appreciated this gesture of kindness from their unhappy monarch. Perhaps they, like Sans himself, realized that in his own way this was the best Papyrus could do to help them all. The only thing he _could_ do when everything seemed to be falling apart, and they didn’t have the heart to take that away from him. Most likely, however, was the fact that the constant stream of psuedo-Italian food had cemented their jaws shut. Stranger things had happened regarding Papyrus’ cooking.

After receiving a half-frozen, half-molten portion of food from a volunteer serving monster, Sans set out to look for his brother. The large meeting area, though nowhere near as grand as the royal throne room, was spacious and comfortable, with just the right balance of warm lighting and tasteless interior design. Fold-up tables stood at attention in orderly rows across the hall, attended by scores of monsters either bravely facing their allotment of brunch or socializing with their friends and neighbors. Sans wandered up and down the neat lines of white furniture, scanning for his royal brother. Papyrus usually took this time to meet with his subjects. Hear their complaints first-hand (in a more intimate setting than the Royal Assembly). Get a feel for how his people were holding up... 

“Take heart, Margaret! I’m sure that your shop will have more visitors!" The sharp, hope-filled voice cut through the crowd, drawing Sans in its direction. "After all, who wouldn’t want to buy a life-time supply of shoe umbrellas? It’s the perfect protection from wet feet!"

“’Sup, bro?” said Sans, sitting down in the free seat beside Papyrus.

“Ah, Sans. Have you met Margaret? She’s an entrepreneur!”

“We might have run into each other,” said Sans as he took a stab at his spaghetti. The fork quivered there, unmoving, and defied all attempts at removal.

“Yes, we have," replied the business-rabbit resentfully. “You’re the monster who keeps advertising for your fried snow business. But when _I_ tried to buy some, you set such ridiculous terms!”

Sans shrugged disinterestedly, far more absorbed in retrieving his fork from the mass of food on his plate. He was fairly certain it was descending further and further into the spaghetti as time passed.

“That’s what happens when you get emotionally attached to your merch. Fame and fortune are **sleeting** , but quality products are forever.”

" _Excuse me?_ "

“Oh my god,” groaned Papyrus. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Not my fault, bro. I’m your Royal Advisor now. You walked into this arrangement with your **ice** wide open.”

“Uuuugh.” Papyrus grabbed Sans’ hoodie and dragged him away from the table, whether out of embarrassment or to preserve the delicate ears of his subjects from more of his brother’s terrible puns, Sans wasn’t sure.

“Where are we headed, your Majesty?” asked Sans, content to watch the dining hall retreat behind him as his brother pulled him along. It was almost relaxing.

“You know where we’re headed,” Papyrus sighed. “I promised the puzzle contractors that we would go over their new puzzle designs. Now that Undyne and the others have gone, their puzzles have been sorely neglected. We need to determine whether to fix them up or make new ones altogether.”

“Sounds like a plan.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter dedicated to Inventivetic, for reminding me why I started writing this fic in the first place.

“And down this corridor was one of the infamous spear traps Captain Undyne facilitated,” droned the puzzle contractor. “You know, the one where she… tried to stab people with spears if they didn’t have the proper clearance? Or if she was in a particularly bad mood?” 

“Of course! How do you think I got this scar?” returned Papyrus, proudly showcasing nearly imperceptible marking on his arm. The contractor nodded appreciatively and continued walking the high parapets, deep water babbling from the river far below them. During the swells, these bridges only just managed to keep the path through Waterfall passable, but at this time of day they were relatively safe. 

“Rather than continue to keep someone posted here and continue to accrue an impressive amount of assault and battery charges for misplaced spears, we’ve decided to totally redesign the puzzle to be more… well, like a puzzle. Not like a death trap. Once we’re finished with the Waterfall entrance, the idea is to rig some pathways to fall when weight is applied to them – ” Here, the contractor put a foot gingerly on an innocent looking plank, causing the whole length of the platform to dip slightly before plunging into the abyss below with an audible *splash* – “like so.” 

Sans stifled a yawn and peered over into the newly formed chasm. Puzzles weren’t the most interesting thing in the Underground to him, and the humid air was making him lethargic. His brother on the other hand… an excited bony arm arrest Sans’ own bony limb. 

“AHHH! Did you see that Sans???” his brother gushed, looking back and forth between Sans and the mysteriously missing portion of bridge as if to ensure Sans was fully appreciating the masterful puzzle craftsmanship being showcased. Sans nodded and, for his brother’s sake, tried to feign some interest. What he wouldn’t do for another cup of coffee right about now… 

“So where does the trap go once you’ve, uh, taken the leap of faith?” asked Sans, watching in amusement as his Papyrus’ head immediately swiveled back to the contractor, thirsty for more nuggets of puzzler wisdom. 

The contractor shrugged. “We haven’t been too keen on throwing monsters down there to check it, but all the platforms seem to wash up at the Dump eventually. Then we just hoist ‘em back up here and start again. Pretty simple.” 

“So elegant! So ingenious! So… So…” 

“Puzzling?” Sans prompted. 

“Puzzling in the most puzzlesome of ways!!! You have truly outdone yourself.” 

The puzzle contractor looked suitably embarrassed – almost as though he wished he’d taken the express elevator down to the Dump – but there was a hint of pleasure in the praise as well. 

“Your Majesty is too kind. We’ve all heard about how you kept the human at bay in Snowdin with your own designs, giving Captain Undyne time to… well, fortifying Waterfall is the least we of the Puzzler’s Guild could do.” 

“Yes, the human… *sigh* I wish I could say they were a good test subject for my magnificent puzzles. They just walked right through my Invisible Electricity Maze. Talk about culturally insensitive…” The puzzle contractor blanched slightly, hands fidgeting on his clipboard. 

“Walked right through it…” 

“And on the puzzle I borrowed from Dr. Alphys as well!! I had always heard humans at least had some tolerance for lovingly suffering through puzzles, but this human was a huge weirdo.” 

The lights in Sans’ eyes sputtered slightly as the memory came rushing back. He and Papyrus standing by the Electric Maze, Alphys’ puzzle, the Gauntlet of Deadly Terror, trying to get the human to… emit some kind of reaction. Play along even a little bit. But those dark, unmoving eyes just stared them down. Sans shuddered despite the heat. His hand reached for Papyrus almost reflexively, but only found empty air. His eyes blinked completely into darkness, and… 

“Hey!” yelled Papyrus from a small distance. Sans looked up and saw both him and the contractor a good ways up the path, looking back at him. “Stop dawdling, you lazybones. We still have so many new puzzles to see!” 

Sans waved in recognition, a swell of relief flowing through him. _It was just a memory,_ he chided. _No reason to let it get **under your skin.**_

He muttered a half-hearted ***ba dum tss*** under his breath and trekked up the path towards his bro. 

* * *

The rest of the tour went along uneventfully. The mysterious statue puzzle – although cluttered with tufts of white fur and faint traces of dog magic – seemed to be functioning at maximum capacity, and the new additions to the Echo Flower Riverwalk were a nice change of pace. Now, instead of repeating private conversation or muttered word by past denizens, these flowers required the user to play their lyrics from the newest Mettaton album in correct order before allowing passage to the rest of Waterfall. This room particularly transfixed Papyrus, and it was several hours before they could convince him to head back to Waterfall Proper, before the nightly floods set in. The entryway, the contractor assured them, was proceeding along at a nice pace and wouldn’t require their attention until it was closer to completion.

The little township was operating under the general dispirited air permeating the Underground, but it was still nearly as lively as the last time Sans had visited. It had been little touched by the disappearances, for some inexplicable reason, although its proximity to Snowdin had caused many long-time residents to pack up and leave for New Home. The few lingering monsters nodded deferentially on King Papyrus approached, but mostly left the odd little group alone to pursue their nightly activities. 

“This is where I’ll leave you, your Majesty, Royal Brotherly Advisor,” stated their tour guide. “If you’re still set on your plans for the evening.” 

“Of course, you need to catch the River Person before the ferry closes. Well, thank you for the tour! The puzzles are coming along marvelously. Almost as relentless and puzzling as my own. Nyeh heh heh!” 

“Keep up the good work. Let me know when they’re up and running,” Sans added seriously. The contractor bowed once more before scurrying off towards the ferry dock. River Person was notoriously merciless towards latecomers, and had been known “lose” monsters overboard, only to be found several days later in various states of trauma. None would repeat their experiences over the past few days, and had a hollow, haunted sort of look whenever you brought it up. But such was the price they paid for quick and efficient travel arrangements. 

Papyrus and Sans walked up the loose gravel path in town, drinking in the peaceful trickle of nearby streams and the inescapable patter of rain. 

“I’m so pleased with all the work they’ve accomplished!” exclaimed Papyrus. “And without a single spaghetti banquet to fuel their productivity!!” Sans plastered on a lop-sided grin. 

“It almost defies belief, bro. And here I thought it was your pasta cementing the Underground together.” 

“I know! Perhaps monsters are more resilient than you gave them credit for.” 

“Yeah, guess so.” 

They lapsed into companionable silence as the path grew a bit steeper as they neared their destination. Though, admittedly, it was no arduous path, the exertion still had Sans panting by the time they reached the top of the embankment, prompting chastising eye rolls and muttered comments about “the benefits of good eating and exercise” from Papyrus. The path opened into a wide room, a bit moldier for wear, but still a nice space. In a corner rested a well-“loved” practice dummy, and the majority of the room was taken up by a low-ceiling dome of a building shaped like an angry fish, as per the instruction of its irascible owner. Former owner, really. 

“You really think someone’s messed with Undyne’s house since we last came here?” asked Sans, giving the dummy a light punch for old times’ sake. Although the blow barely even moved the cotton filled doll, Sans couldn’t help but feel a faint sense of indignant accusation from it. He moved away from the dummy. 

“Of course not! Nobody would dare mess with anything of Undyne’s. She’s too cool for that. And would also punch their lights out if they tried! But we can’t just let it sit here all dusty. When she gets back, I want everything to be in tip top condition. Her house included.” 

Papyrus snagged the key from its hiding hole atop the fish-house’s angry left eyelid, opened the door, and walked into the hut. Sans flicked on the lights as he entered, surprised as always at how little changed it. Although Papyrus’ strict cleanliness standards required the immediate removal of all the dust and grime Undyne had left behind, the extensive burn marks in the ceiling and surrounding kitchen area remained intact, and even her haphazardly arranged countertops of knives, spices, and teas had not been rearranged into an optimal matrix. Papyrus was taking great care that Undyne’s home remain just that – ready for her whenever she returned from vacation. Sans sighed dispiritedly and sat down at the piano, fingers playing an idle, dissonant tune. At least the piano was still in tune. 

Papyrus emerged from Undyne’s room a couple of minutes later, fully garbed in his Maid of Sanitation outfit: apron, shower cap, and all. 

“Suit up, Sans. We’ve got a lot of work to do,” his brother ordered, brandishing a mop with reckless abandon. Sans slid off the piano bench and put his hands in his pockets. “Nah, that sounds like a death sentence. Remember the last time you tried to get me to clean a kitchen? My methods were so ‘ridiculously unorthodox,’ I had to camp out at the inn while you angrily cleaned the house for…” he mock-counted on his fingers “…about thirteen hours.” 

Papyrus huffed at the memory, mouth screwed up in distaste. 

“How was I supposed to know you would use peanut butter as a cleaning chemical?” he snapped good-naturedly. “It took me ages to get it all out of the carpet, and I don’t even want to know how you got so many mushrooms stuck to the ceiling. But you’ve learned a lot since then! I have full faith in your ability not to ruin everything again.” 

“Then I guess I haven’t been trying hard enough. Anyway, I don’t wanna be a bother. I’ll just explore Waterfall for a while, fraternize with the locals.” 

Papyrus’ eyes narrowed as he weighed the benefit of having a Sans-free house in which to clean properly and the probability that Sans would use this time to drink and/or gamble at the nearest snail racing ring. Ultimately practicality and Undyne’s best interest won out, as he merely shooed his brother out the door before attacking the nearest floor tile with a ferocity it scarcely deserved. 

Sans wandered down the wet path, nearly slipping several times on the loose stones, before making it back to the town square. He couldn’t tarry all night like days past in Snowdin what with the nightly rains fast approaching, but he had time for a little mischief before being locked indoors for the night. The misty air hung heavy on his clothes, making them depress into odd shapes against the contour of his bones, and he was grateful to leave the oppressive air of the main cavern system for the homey, slightly-less oppressive air of the Thundersnail Dome. The long room was dominated by the racing track: a long, even plane with racing lines scrawled out in luminescent paint. The rest of room was all tables and chairs, lined up for optimal viewing of the Underground’s most intense sport. A small painted fence separated the famous racers from their adoring public, which tonight consisted of a few hopelessly drunk clam monsters, a small eggplant shaped creature, a couple geezers, and himself. An incorporeal presence congealed into a ghost-shaped package as he entered the room. 

“W-welcome to the Thundersnail Racetrack. Would you like to bet on a snail for only 10G?” 

“Who’s racing tonight?” 

“Oh, it’s a packed roster. Racing Slick and Shell Dancer are at it again, and Unslimed, Unbroken just came out of retirement. Plus, we have a new addition to the sport: Snail o’ War. He’s the favorite this year, but you didn’t hear it from me.” 

“Put 10G on Unslimed, Unbroken, wouldja? I love a good comeback story.” He handed over the gold, which Sans half expected to fall through the ghost and onto the floor, but rather it kind of just… sat there before being fully absorbed into the ghostly proprietor. 

“Thank you for your business,” it muttered glumly before disappearing into the void. Transaction completed, Sans walked further into the room and sat down on a damp bench, awaiting the breathtaking excitement only a good Thundersnail match could provide. As the night wore on, his snail only won 1 of the 10 set, with Snail o’ War indeed taking the lion’s share of matches, and Shell Dancer triumphing over his rival on the last match by an antennae’s breadth. Napstablook came by later to return his one gold coin, but Sans didn’t mind the loss of the other nine if it kept the Thundersnail arena running. Monsters needed an unsavory diversion now and again, and gambling was most certainly that. Money wasted for the evening, Sans stood, stretched, and walked over to one of the tables in the back, pulling a chair up as he went. 

“Evening, old timers.” Gerson and the Elder Puzzler leered back at him with all the grouchy ill-temperament age had afforded them. 

“Old timer? Is that any way to talk to your elders?” groused Gerson. “In my day, monsters had more respect for those who could whoop their bony butts into next week.” 

“Hmm,” agreed the Elder Puzzler, his voice like rough stones scratching against each other. “That they did. And a better respect for the art of puzzle-making, too. Now any old monster can whip up a flashy, thirty-step trap and be called a hero. What a disgrace.” He shot back another glass and glared fixedly at a point just above Sans’ head. “Heard you and your Royal Brother went on a tour of the new fixin’s today. What a joke.” 

“They’re certainly no box puzzle,” Sans admitted, “but it’s hard to beat the classics.” 

“Aye, you’re right. Your brother was the only person to get it right, come to think of it. The only one of these whipper-snappers who understands puzzles. _Really understands_ them, y’see.” 

“He’ll be happy to hear that.” 

“Well don’t go around tellin’ him!” shot back the Elder Puzzler. “Can’t go giving away my secrets, gosh darn skelly…” he trailed off, eyes slightly ajar. Gerson sighed and heaved himself to his feet, pulling up his fellow senior citizen with him. 

“Come on, you cranky old goon. You’ve had enough.” 

“Bah! Gerroff me, Gerson, you sunnava – ” 

“Yeah, yeah, curse me in the morning. Now get out of here before the floods wash you into the Dump. I won’t go after you this time if they do.” With much grumbling and several mean glances back at their table, the old puzzle master stumbled towards the exit and into the muggy night here. 

“You sure he’s good to get back… wherever old puzzlers haunt?” asked Sans, taking a swig from the departed man’s glass. 

“Eh, he’s a tough ol’ monster. He’ll be find.” Gerson locked his old gnarled fingers together and fastened Sans with a monocle-d eye. “But you didn’t come here to talk about my old drinking buddies.” 

“No, I didn’t,” Sans admitted, taking another sip, this one for strength of nerve. Gerson waited for him to finish. 

“I’m worried…about Papyrus,” Sans admitted. “He’s taking on a lot of burdens that shouldn’t’ve been his in the first place. The hopelessness, overcrowding, puzzle degradation, keeping the memory of those lost alive, _Snowdin_ … and all the reports of monsters falling down. More than ever before.” Sans’ fingers tightened around the cup. 

“That last one hasn’t been officially released yet,” said Gerson softly. “Right now, it’s only a rumor.” 

“And when the official reports _do_ come in?” Sans returned. “They’re dying down here, Gerson. When there’s no hope left, nothing to live for, monsters just…” 

“Lose track of themselves,” Gerson finished. “Lose the will to keep themselves in one piece. And you’re afraid that’ll affect King Papyrus, too?” Sans hesitated for a moment. 

“Papyrus is the most positive monster in the Underground. Not even when the human… not even when the disappearances started did he lose hope. He always believed. Always thought the best of the situation…” 

“And as a result, many in Waterfall call him a hero,” replied Gerson. “That human child cut through every monster it crossed until it met your brother. We in Waterfall thought the end was coming for us, but whatever your brother did on that bridge changed our future. The killings stopped, for a time, at least.” 

_Until Undyne,_ the true end of that thought floated in the air between them. Gerson dipped his head slightly, eyes filled with moisture. 

“You know…I felt a little betrayed when ol’ Fluffybuns decided to find a way to escape. We’d decided long ago that it was pointless, that the humans would just kill us once we left. But now, I think… maybe he was right to.” He leaned back in his chair. “’Cause after all, even though we never escaped… a human killed us anyway. That’s another one of your fears for Papyrus, hmm? When the next human drops down here?” Sans looked into the depths of his cup. That was not his fear. Not exactly, but it was close enough to resemble the truth. 

“I let Papyrus walk that bridge to meet the human, knowing what might happen. If he had died…” San choked up, averting his gaze from Gerson’s sympathetic one. After a time, he pulled himself back together. “I could’ve stopped him, then. Maybe I should have…But it’s different now. He’s the king of the Underground. If another human returns, he’ll have to fight. To kill.” 

“LOVE isn’t something a monster like your brother can stand. I’ve watched him most carefully since he was appointed. He doesn’t have the heart for it. But, then, that’s your fault, ain’t that right?” Sans looked up at the old turtle, but the returning gaze wasn’t accusatory. 

“You and his own natural naivete, they protect him from the horrors of his station at the cost of leaving him vulnerable.” 

“Papyrus is _not_ naïve,” returned Sans viciously. 

“Whether naïve or hopelessly trusting, it all amounts to the same. He will die if the next human isn’t as keen to spare. Woe to the Underground if such a human exists. And changing him to see that danger would be tantamount to giving him the EXP now, eh? 

“So what are you going to do about it?” 

“Me?” 

“Am I talking to another skeleton monster at this table? Yes, you, ya idjit. You’ve managed to convince him the disappearances are just that, or that his friends and neighbors are gone away on vacation with a murderous human. You’ve shielded him from the scorn of more perceptive monsters as best you can and left him to do the more palatable tasks of the state while you labor with the dirty underside, the problems that can’t be wiped away with pasta and kind words. 

“The truly vicious humans will not be stopped by puzzles. They will charge right through them and plunge the blade into your skull,” Gerson stated, tapping a claw on Sans’ skull. He pulled back, and Gerson chuckled grimly. “But the kind humans? Those who are truly children, dropping into a world they know not?” 

“They’ll still kill us,” breathed Sans. “They’re humans.” 

“Aye, they could. They’re also the only ones who can save us.” Sans blinked as his meaning set it. 

“The souls…” 

“A soul. Ol’ King Fluffybuns was stalling when he demanded seven to break the barrier. It would only take one to get one monster through. Then he could take as many souls as he wanted.” 

“What you’re saying would start a war.” 

“Or bring us salvation.” Gerson shook his head and got to his feet, each joint creaking like an unoiled door. “Look. I’m not saying this is the right path, or that killing is the only way. You’re a smart monster, you might surprise me. But to these old eyes, this is the only way to secure your brother’s future. The only way he, and the rest of us, have a shot at life beyond these crowded caverns.” Sans stared back at him, his face a mask. Gerson patted him on the shoulder and walked towards the exit. 

“Think it over, son. I’m always here if you need advice.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was early morning when Papyrus woke, though you wouldn't know it from the pale, luminescent light filtering through Undyne's bedroom window. Time in Waterfall was measured by the volume of the rains and the height of the waters rather than the sun's trek around the earth above. After blindly swatting at the angry seahorse alarm clock until it ceased its blaring, Papyrus threw back the covers with flourish and jumped out of bed. His bones creaked slightly as he stretched his arms toward the ceiling on the balls of his feet. He hadn’t meant to sleep so long; the day was practically halfway over already!!! What a waste of three and a half hours… 

"Sans? Where are you, lazybones?" Papyrus called. The ears of his bunny slippers flapped limply as he marched into Undyne's living room, but Sans was nowhere to be found. This was becoming all too common now that Sans had taken up the role of Royal Brotherly Advisor. Could it be that _Papyrus_ was turning into the lazy one? Sleeping half the day away while his brother toiled under the yoke of bureaucracy??? No, that was ridiculous. No one could hope to be as unapologetically apathetic as his brother. Another survey of the room led Papyrus to the abused metal of Undyne's hot fridge and a hastily drawn note, made even more illegible by his brother's rotten penmanship. 

*hey, bro 

*gotta split early this morning 

*hotcat suppliers sent me a shipment of hotbirds by mistake

*it's a culinary cat-astrophe

* will catch up with you later

*snas

Papyrus resisted the urge to grab the nearest pen and correct the obvious misspelling and just sighed. Judging by how his brother didn't capitalize on the second possible cat pun, Sans wasn't telling him something. Something _else_ that is. Papyrus reattached the note with an magnet and walked back to Undyne's bedroom, skull furrowed thoughtfully as he prepared for the day: brushing his teeth, making Undyne's bed (Papyrus wished she didn't keep destroying her couches with fire and/or wrestling takedowns -- it would've felt like less of an invasion of privacy to sleep there), and putting on his battle body. The cape and crown necessary to complete the kingly ensemble stayed where they were on the dresser as Papyrus exited the house. King Asgore may have had the experience necessary, but Papyrus was by no means ready to wear them while training.

Papyrus set up the woolen dummy in roughly the center of the training area, clearing away any debris that might make him trip heroically. Once he was satisfied, Papyrus took his place in front of his cotton-stuffed opponent. If Undyne were here, she would've insisted on a solid twelve minutes of monologuing - like in her animus (or whatever they were called) - explaining his reasons for fighting and all the minute moments of angst that had led him up to this point... but that didn't seem fair. After all, the dummy couldn't be expected to monologue back their side of the story. Better to just get on with it.

The air shifted and grew dark around the borders of the room as Papyrus threw down the challenge. White battlegrid lines spread around them until they were enclosed in a magic rectangle (Papyrus' second favorite kind of rectangle).

"Nyeh heh heh! Dummy! Prepare to face the unbridled might of the Great Papyrus!"

The dummy declined to respond.

After giving the dummy a few customary seconds to react, Papyrus summoned a field of bones, each about knee high, and sent them into battle, each soldier marching in neat, orderly lines. The dummy weathered the barrage with fortitude and continued to watch Papyrus stoically as the next rows of bones hit, growing and shrinking to various sizes, like white waves crashing upon its cotton-stuffed form.

The bones grew to taller heights as time passed and Papyrus continued to fight the good fight, simulating hurdles enemies would have to traverse if they could jump. White pillars danced across the battleground, forming walls, barriers, pyramids, and other constructs of bone, interspersed here and there with blue attacks, for which the training dummy was perfectly suited to withstand. The off-duty king worked tirelessly for a long time, perfecting his old attacks and trying out some new variations he had come up with, until his magic eventually wore down. The bones began to slow in their attack formations, their heights growing uneven. And after the third time Papyrus accidently spelled out “cool dude” in bone lines, he decided it was time to call it a day. SPAREing the dummy in one clean motion, Papyrus dissolved the arena and considered going inside and making some of Undyne's tea, when a flash of yellow caught his attention by the entrance corridor, followed by a dull *thwack*. The king ran towards the ramp and looked down, only to find a young monster flat on his face a few feet below. The monster gingerly detached his face from the pavement, shaking his head slightly to dislodge some bits of gravel. Recognition sparked in Papyrus' eyes.

"Hey! I know you. You were that kid from court! Who made everyone feel terrible about themselves!" The monster kid started and stared back at Papyrus, mouth slightly agape. Papyrus had puzzled over this look before. "Oh, I see. Our meager time together was not enough to accustom you to my, the Great Papyrus', grrrrreatness. Bask away, little monster. Papyrus will patiently await your acceptance." The kid shut his mouth quickly, taking a couple tentative steps towards the king. "That's better," said Papyrus. "Now, what were you doing hiding in the doorway?"

"Your majesty, King Papyrus, I... (oh, man, he's so cool). I heard you were in Waterfall, so I came to see you, then you were training and I just..." The young monster shook his head. When he looked back at Papyrus, you could nearly name the constellations in his starstruck eyes. "I had to watch! I used to follow Undyne all the time and watch her beat up bad guys." His expression faltered slightly there, but he seemed to rally few seconds later. "Anyway, you both are so cool. I can't wait to be in the royal guard one day." To accentuate the point, the monster kid gave a ferocious kick at some imaginary villain, slapping his tail around to deliver the final blow. A strange pang ached through Papyrus' chest as the monster continued: "I've been training really hard with the old turtle, every day. Soon, I _know_ I'll be strong enough to fight anyone!"

"Those are worthy goals indeed! I'm sure you'll be a fantastic guardsman in no time!" replied the king.

"Actually..." said the monster. "I was wondering if... maybe you wouldn't train with me sometime? I know my magic isn't strong enough to beat a king, but I'm really trying to become strong. Maybe you could help me? So that I can protect everyone, just like you did, like all the guardsman."p>

"Of course! That sounds like a wonderful idea. But... umm, not today. I have many kingly duties to attend to, and can't spend the entire day training. Come to the palace in uhh... three days’ time, early morning should suffice. Then I can show you what the Great Papyrus is made of!" The child had wilted somewhat towards the beginning of the king's speech, but by the end he was practically buzzing with excitement.

"Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh. Thank you so much, King Papyrus! You won't regret it, sir!" And with that (and one more celebratory exit faceplant) the monster kid zipped out of side, his tail swishing merrily back and forth. Papyrus watched him go with a small smile before returning the dummy to its proper place and retiring to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small blurb of an update. I wanted to include this in the larger chapter I'm halfway through writing, buuuuut writer's block is a thing that exists.
> 
> Also, if anyone has recommendations for real names of Monster Kid, I'm all ears. I can't promise to use them, but my ideas are pretty lame and... yeah. <3

**Author's Note:**

> "Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown."  
> -some guy at Starbucks


End file.
